


Bunny

by ceywoozle



Series: One Word Bottomjohn Prompts [74]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Job, Crack, M/M, butt plug, terrible pet names, that i had to google
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-05
Updated: 2016-02-05
Packaged: 2018-05-18 10:57:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5925921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceywoozle/pseuds/ceywoozle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John makes a mistake. Sherlock makes sure he doesn't forget it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bunny

It's an accident when it happens. They're at a crime scene (of course) and it's November (of course) and it's raining (bloody of course) and John's warm coat is still at the cleaners from last time. He is shivering because he's soaked through and there is a wind off the Thames and he's stopped feeling his hands and feet fifteen minutes ago and he wonders, with just the slightest edge of desperation to the thought, just how much bloody longer Sherlock is going to be.

“Sherlock?”

Sherlock doesn't answer. He never does when he's staring at a corpse.

“Sherlock.” John tries again, a little louder, and this time both Lestrade and Donovan glance up.

“Alright, John?” Greg asks, and perversely it's someone else's attention to him that makes Sherlock finally look up himself.

“You're cold,” Sherlock says immediately.

“I'm fine,” John says. “Just wondering how long.”

Sherlock scowls. He hates being being rushed. More than that, he hates being asked to rush. So it surprises John when he stands up and shucks off his coat and with an endearingly awkward gesture thrusts it over John's shoulders.

“Sherlock—”

“I won't be much longer,” Sherlock says and John knows he should argue, that Sherlock is just as susceptible to hypothermia as he is and is a much worse patient, but the instantaneous warmth of insulating wool is too much and instead of arguing all John can do is say, “Ta, love.”

And oh god, where did _that_ come from?

Five feet away from him, Sherlock suddenly freezes. A few feet further, still standing over the corpse, Donovan and Lestrade are staring.

Then Donovan snorts. Lestrade actually smiles, a sickly sentimental thing. And Sherlock…Sherlock looks back at him and this time when John shivers it has nothing to do with impending frost bite.

“No problem,” he says, and his voice is terrifyingly mild. _“Sweetie.”_

 

* * * * *

 

It doesn't stop there. Oh God no. John had hopes…in the taxi back to Baker Street, still huddled in the heat of Sherlock's coat, Sherlock had acted entirely normal. Almost. There was _something._ A brittle edge to him that suggested _waiting,_ and John, in spite of himself, could feel something in himself that was a little too close to anticipation to be entirely comfortable.

When they'd gotten home they had both showered, one after the other, and when Sherlock came out wearing sleep trousers and a dressing gown, John handed him a cup of tea without a word.

“Thank you. _Darling,”_ Sherlock had said, and leaned down and kissed John with a fierce sort of tenderness on the lips.

Then he'd walked to his chair and had spent the rest of the evening editing Wikipedia articles on the internet.

 

* * * * *

 

It doesn't really start to get weird until two days later. It's late when they get home on Sunday, the adrenaline of success pumping through them both. There is an edge of desperation to it as they kiss each other senseless against the front door, then in the hallway, then again on the landing before they finally manage to get to the flat where John pushes Sherlock onto the couch and straddles him, tongue frantically seeking an opening in his shirt.

He is hazy with lust and so it takes a second for John to realise what Sherlock is chanting as John lays against his chest, lapping hungrily at one taut nipple.

 _“Dearest. Sweetie. Love. Darling. My heart. Honey. My dove.”_ But it's not until Sherlock reaches _snookums_ that John suddenly bursts out laughing.

And Sherlock freezes. Stares at him with wide, disinterested eyes, and slowly pushes John away.

“Sherlock?”

“Yes, John?” He is buttoning his shirt up, standing up and actually— _actually_ —walking away.

 _Shit,_ John thinks. “Are we okay?” he says out loud.

“Of course,” Sherlock says, and his tone says _Why wouldn't we be?_ Out loud he says: “Tea?”

“Um. Yeah,” John says, not sure how to continue this. Not sure if he should. “Ta.”

“No problem. _Baby.”_

 

* * * * *

 

The next time it happens they are on the couch again. Sherlock sitting upright and John crouched sideways over his lap, his mouth wide over Sherlock's cock, wetting it with as much saliva as he can muster while one long arms curls over his back and one broad finger tip slides in and out of his hole.

 _“Angel,”_ Sherlock moans as John swirls his tongue around the protrusion that is trying to reach its way down his throat and into his lungs. _“Babe!”_ and this time when Sherlock says it it's accompanied by a hard pump of his finger and John nearly chokes on the cock in his mouth as he tries to moan out loud.

 _“Sugar!”_ And another pump of that long finger and John starts to suckle furiously in Sherlock's lap as word after word spills out, each one accompanied by a short, sharp thrust.

It doesn't take long at all. John is rutting against the couch by now to a litany of _“Tootsie! Treasure! Sexy! Doll! Fruit loop!”_ and when Sherlock shouts out _“Kitten!”_ like the moaning roar of a mating lion, John comes, whimpering like a broken animal against Sherlock's thrusting cock. He's still shivering from the aftershocks when Sherlock pulls John up by the hair and shoves him down into the cushions. He thrusts himself unceremoniously between John's thighs and fucks him hard, groaning wordlessly as he comes seconds later, pushing himself as deep into John's body as he can go.

It's only later, when John wakes up still tangled beneath him, sweat and come a sticky, itching mess that plasters their bodies together, does John realise it's the most sated he's felt in a long time.

He tries very hard not to think about that.

 

* * * * *

 

And this. This was inevitable. He's brought this on himself he knows.

“You should sit,” Lestrade says. “It'll take a while.”

“No,” John says. He is sweating in his brand new coat. It's thick and wool and long. “I don't mind standing."

“You should walk, John,” Sherlock says. He comes to John, kissing him sweetly on the lips, but there's a look in his eye and John's cock, already iron hard in his loose trousers, gives a twitch. “Go on, bunny,” Sherlock murmurs so no one else can hear. “Hop.”

John swallows and prays to any God listening that he isn't as flushed as he feels.

“He's a bit stiff,” he hears Sherlock say to Lestrade as he walks away. “Good to keep him moving.” And John counts his steps as he tries to keep his mind off the way the plug with the large cotton rabbit tail is actually tenting his trousers from behind. He is far more grateful than he should be that Sherlock hadn't made him take his coat off.

 

* * * * *

 

Forty-seven minutes later when Sherlock finds him, pacing stiffly back and forth in front of NSY, he doesn't say a word. But he smiles and when he leans over to kiss John on the mouth it is gentle and tender and John can taste it for what it is: a _reward._

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Sherlock says, and Sherlock never says that.

“Okay,” John says because his voice is shaking and he doesn't trust himself to say anything more.

“Let's go home, love.”

And at home, the coat gone, the trousers gone, the plug gone, John finds he's grateful. He straddles Sherlock's pale thighs and fucks himself on that iron hard length while his cock, bouncing lewdly and completely ignored, thrusts obscenely at nothing but air. And Sherlock's face, Sherlock's cock in his arse, the long murmured litany of _sweetie, darling, baby,_ is enough. _More_ than enough.

“Bounce, little bunny,” Sherlock growls, and he strokes the tip of a soft silky ear as it flops into John's sweating face. “Bounce.”


End file.
